


And one of bitterness

by e_p_hart



Series: Nuvo Greek [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Future, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:24:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_p_hart/pseuds/e_p_hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His mask-- never fell. It never did.</p><p>He drains, empties. Who is he? Who is he?</p><p>“I am the Dead,” he whispers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And one of bitterness

In the beginning, they lied to him.  
  
(“It really is for the best, Cadmus. After all, we don’t want to poison these human emotions with any extra baggage, any more experience. We will preserve only the very best of ourselves. Think of what later generations, later peoples, will receive from us: the best.”)  
  
He knew it, and embraced the lie.  
  
Now he just doesn’t care.  
  
(this is always the lie)

* * *

  
  
It begins with a meeting:  
  
“We are sorry to have called you out of the festival.”  
  
Enter the conference room, panel of people. Chair pulled back for him.  
  
“Please sit down.”  
  
Sits.  
  
“We have a proposition for you, Cadmus.”  
  
He waits while they explain their plan. And since it is Phoebe who makes the proposal...  
  
Well, Phoebe makes the proposal.  
  
“It really is for the best, Cadmus. After all, we don’t want to poison these human emotions with any extra baggage, any more experience. We will preserve only the very best of ourselves. Think of what later generations, later peoples, will receive from us: the best.”  
  
Yes, he thinks. He shifts in the chair. “Why me?”  
  
“You’re so sturdy.” The answer is well-rehearsed. “We need people, like you, to be counselors.”  
  
“And why now?”  
  
Flash of teeth in her dark face. “It’s been happening already, Cadmus.”  
  
He remembers feeling fear.  
  
And then he feels nothing at all.  
  
“Since I have no choice, I will help you,” he says.  
  
Phoebe pouts. “Don’t be like that, Cadmus.”  
  
He shrugs, offers his empty hands. “I will tell you what I really think when you tell me why you really want me to help.”  
  
He knows-- he knows very well. But he wants them to say it.

* * *

  
  
In the hallway, Phoebe stops him with a hand on his arm. Pulls him aside. “All right,” she says. “The real reason we want you to help is because of what happened last year.”  
  
\-- blood, everywhere, the water doesn’t help, he can’t _stop_ it, just blood, dripping, into his _eyes,_ his _mouth--_  
  
He’s nodding. “My punishment, then.”  
  
Her face is soft. “I’m sorry, Cadmus. But under the new system, you wouldn’t last a day before they came for you. They can’t have depressives, dragging everyone else down.”  
  
“This is to-- keep an eye on me.”  
  
“Exactly. We’ll train you. And we were telling the truth when we said you were stable. You are a perfect reflecting pool.”  
  
A reflecting pool.  
  
“Yes, Cadmus. We need you.”  
  
He believes her. Because he *wants* to.  


* * *

  
  
He returns to the festival, and sits between Anstice and Lethia again, and they turn to him and smile, and he cannot smile back.  
  
He’s remembering.  
  
He remembers his friend Tanith, who disappeared after she got married last month.  
  
He remembers his aunt and uncle, who died after celebrating the birth of their first grandchild.  
  
He remembers...  
  
Suddenly he is suspicious.  
  
Suddenly he is scared. Not for himself. But for all the unsuspecting.  


* * *

   
  
“What’s bothering you?” Anstice asks. He crosses his arms and waits.  
  
“Nothing,” Cadmus says.  
  
“You’re a liar. Something _is_ bothering you. I’ll find out sooner or later.”  
  
“Later, then.” Look away, hope he’ll get the hint.  
  
He goes off in a huff.  


* * *

   
  
But then Lethia comes to him, and smiles, and cups his face with cool hands. It is enough to make him want to cry.  
  
“What can I do?” she says.  
  
“Nothing. There is nothing you can do.”  
  
There is nothing any of them can do.  


* * *

  
  
“The one thing you have to always remember,” Phoebe tells him, “is that to achieve Happiness, one must either experience everything, or nothing at all.”  
  
And that...makes sense. It does.  
  
“You must use your own judgment in each individual case,” she continues. “If you have someone who is narrow-minded and convinced, then they can very easily achieve Happiness with ordinary things: marriage, childbirth or fatherhood, consummation of a love, recognition of a job well done, et cetera. On the other hand, if you are faced with someone serious, thoughtful, yes, educated and skeptical, then more work may be necessary: travel, deep discussion, a connection on a different sort of level; and so on. And then some people...”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
She shakes her head. “Some people may realize what we are doing. Some people might scorn the gift of life and deny themselves any chance of Happiness.” She does not look at him. “Some people would love life so much that they give up Happiness in order to keep life-- but they do not realize what they are missing! Imagine, a moment of pure joy, of peace within oneself, of ecstasy!”  
  
“Imagine,” he says softly. “Imagine it.”  
  
“They just-- refuse to accept that it is their _fate_ to experience it, that it is their _fate_ to submit to our wishes of preservation--” She chokes herself into silence.  
  
Silence.  
  
Silence.  
  
“These people,” she says, “these people must be isolated. They poison the system, they are the pebble in our shoe. Some, like you, we can use; but others are merely wastes of our time. When you realize what these monsters are, who they are, you must point them out to us if have not found them already.”  
  
“And what will you do?”  
  
“Take care of them. It is a sadness, that they will never have Happiness; but we must sacrifice a few for the good of the whole.” Her eyes glitter, color rises to her cheeks, she brushes her hair back fiercely--  
  
Passionate. Aflame.  
  
“Yes,” she says. He did not know he had spoken aloud. “We are the purging flame. Exactly. All that is left will be the perfect core, the-- the chaff cleaned. Pure Happiness, pure joy, pure, pure, untouched emotion. The fullest we can experience.”  
  
He--  
  
\--does not think of it--  
  
\--nods.

* * *

  
  
The house is dark.  
  
It is...to be expected.  
  
It is late.  
  
Cadmus...  
  
He sits in the darkness.  
  
Breathes. In. And. Out.  
  
There is this.  
  
There is-- this.  
  
Sweep of his eyelashes downwards, quieter than a whisper of leaves. The stars, outside, dimming. Sky, lighter.  
  
Darkness.  
  
He sleeps.  


* * *

   
  
“I am worried about you, my dear.”  
  
Oh, mother. You worry about everything, about everyone, he does not say.  
  
“Anstice and Lethia say that you aren’t yourself, that you are even more quiet than usual, that you sit for hours in the dark, doing nothing, saying nothing.” She brushes his cheek. “What is bothering you, my son?”  
  
“Life,” he says, and tries a smile. She is not impressed.  
  
“Are you going to try to kill yourself again?”  
  
“Mother!”  
  
“Well-- are you?”  
  
He breathes in. Considers. “No.”  
  
“Good. Because you have so much to live for.”  
  
\--purging flame, pure Happiness, pure joy, pure, pure, untouched emotion, the fullest knowledge of ourselves--  
  
“Yes, mother,” he says.  


* * *

   
  
These children. They are all children, despite their ages. They come to him for guidance. He is assured what he is doing is-- right. The right path. Options.  
  
They are simple-minded enough, for the most part. He grants them his distance, his calm; some receive his cynical humor.  
  
He allows their tears, their fears, their small battles, lost and won.  
  
And why not?  
  
This ache, it permeates his heart. The solution is-- cold. Freezing cold, distance. Vacuum.  
  
The first juncture is Lethia. She follows her name, and they take her away out of some sense of pity.  
  
Not for her. She cannot recognize it.  
  
But for them.  
  
Anstice-- He is one of Cadmus’ first.  
  
He is almost the last.  
  
Cadmus-- almost cracks, almost loses. Anstice realizes what they are doing, what Cadmus is doing, and removes himself from the equation. Cadmus nearly follows.  
  
\--blade on skin, bare movement away from pressing, metal shining in their lights, flinching from their shouts--  
  
They cannot take a hint, so they make certain Cadmus receives only strangers, and allow him to continue.  
  
Continue to watch him, more closely.  
  
How many angels dance on the head of a pin?  
  
As many as the microphones that surround him, plus some.  
  
His punishment...  


* * *

   
  
She enters his office, graceful and anguished. Throws herself on the couch. Doesn’t speak.  
  
He masks himself in shadows. Lies to her. Forces her to-- do things he knows will not work.  
  
Why her? Why now?  
  
He must have his little rebellions. And she plays along so prettily:  
  
“Shall I take your silence as my answer?”  
  
“Cadmus--”  
  
“Very well, then, that will be your assignment for our next meeting. Jason.”  
  
“Cadmus, please--”  
  
“You may go about it as you wish; I have no thoughts to confine or limit you.”  
  
He smiles. She leaves. He sits in the darkness-- he will not surrender.  
  
He will not.  


* * *

   
  
Kore seems too distance, today, for her to hear what he has to say.  
  
“Jason did not satisfy you, Kore?”  
  
She cocks her head to one side, considering. All too assured of herself. She shrugs.  
  
“I did try to tell you, Cadmus. Perhaps I need more of a mental connection?”  
  
Do not offer your own weaknesses, do not name them, mention them, he knows very well what can pierce her heart. “That was why I suggested Laertes first, but you refused. May I ask why you refused?”  
  
“We have known each other for far too long. I fear any sort of-- movement towards something more would shatter our relationship into so many pieces.”  
  
“Laertes? Really?” You know what to say, you know how to deny yourself--  
  
“Yes, Cadmus. I value our friendship too much.”  
  
“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”  
  
“No. There is not.”  
  
Good girl.  


* * *

   
  
“Yes? What is it you want?”  
  
“Galen, I am Cadmus. Your niece, Kore, comes to see me.”  
  
Eyes dart around-- is he here to punish, to scold? Does he perhaps know my secrets?  
  
He should be scared, he should feel ashamed, Cadmus thinks.  
  
“And?” Galen asks. “What do you want?”  
  
“I do not wish to dictate your desires; have no fear of that.”  
  
Letch, he relaxes, and Cadmus hates himself.  
  
“It is because of that desire I am here.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Instead of following my wishes, Kore went off to a schoolboy named Jason.”  
  
“Your wishes? What were they?”  
  
Cadmus smiles.  
  
Quick intake of breath. “Really?”  
  
“Who better?” He feels-- ill. “I am extremely disappointed in her. You should be as well. You should be so disappointed you contact your other niece, Nerissa, and bid her speak to Kore.”  
  
“I should--”  
  
“You should. Tell Nerissa that you seduced Kore.” This-- is not his idea. This is not his plan.  
  
“But--”  
  
“And if Kore comes to speak to you, you should deny everything.”  
  
This is not what he wants.  


* * *

   
  
She is restless today. She has something on her mind.  
  
He has things he wishes to tell her, as well. Not...  
  
“Why not your uncle, Kore?”  
  
He _knows_ the answer already. Probably better than she does.  
  
“You saw how my sister reacted. How the others at school reacted. And Jason is acceptable. They do not know my uncle. I fear the backlash. And, like I said, he is a toad. He deliberately twisted his words to my sister, so that she would take our meeting in a different light. He is a liar, for all that he is beautiful. But there are many beautiful men who are not liars. And not family.”  
  
He hums: it all about the appearance. “Yes.” He makes a note into his tablet. Sets it aside deliberately. He does not glance at the microphone, at the camera, as he follows their orders. “You know there are no cameras in here. You may speak freely with me.”  
  
“But I am still monitored. And-- you are here.”  
  
“Ah, but I am trying to *help* you, Kore. You do know that, right?” I lie, I lie, I lie.  
  
“I know that. And I do appreciate your efforts.”  
  
“I hope that one day you will tell me the truth.”  
  
She licks her lips. “I cannot hide my actions from you. I do not try.”  
  
He reaches over, knocks her gently on the head. “But you hide within your mind, Kore, more deeply than anyone I know. Except perhaps me.” A smile, only on the surface. “And I think you are definitely hiding from me.” You are not. You could not. You are as transparent as clean air.  
  
“I think that you are wrong. Goodbye, Cadmus. Time is up. I will see you next week.”  
He reclines in his chair, watches her leave, wears satisfaction and disbelief like weights. They cannot burden her, only himself, this two-bladed sword.

 

* * *

  
  
They force him to watch the scene unfolding.  
  
He brings her flowers. He brings her _flowers._  
  
“No,” he says.  
  
“Watch,” they say.  
  
The boat. The afternoon. His expression. He listens to them call the dispatch.  
  
He swallows-- the words. Pain. Cannot. Exist. This is _right,_ this is how it should be--  
  
He-- doesn’t hear her crying.  
  
“You, Cadmus,” they say. “You must be next.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yes. Do it.”  
  
No, no, no, and no.  


* * *

  
  
“You must pull yourself together, Kore,” Cadmus says.  
  
“I don’t care,” she cries. “I don’t want to. Cadmus--”  
  
“I know what you are doing,” he says. He puts down his tablet and seizes her shoulders, pulls her upright. “You think I don’t?” Be cruel, be cruel, do not spare her. She must see-- “I see myself in you,” he lies “I tried the same thing. You don’t *want* Happiness, you don’t want it for yourself, for anyone.”  
“Please--”  
  
“I have tried to keep this from my superiors, Kore. I have.” He does not even need a prompt.  
  
She is breathless, frightened, *young*. “You didn’t *tell* them, Cadmus? Oh, please--” She throws herself at him, into his embrace, his treacherous arms wrap around her. “I don’t want to die,” she says it over and over; “I don’t want to die, please don’t let me die.”  
  
“It is inevitable,” he says. “You must stop fighting it, Kore.” Never surrender, gods, no, he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t want to--  
  
“No; no, no, no--”  
  
“Give into it. What must I do to help you? What can I do to show you the way?”  
  
“Cadmus, please, I don’t--”  
  
He--  
  
\--takes--  


* * *

   
  
It turns out better than he expected.  
  
They have failed.  
  
“You have failed, Cadmus,” they tell him.  
  
He allows himself the smile he feels to settle upon his lips.  
  
“I have *won*,” he says.  
  
“We will tolerate this impudence and desecration of our system no longer, Cadmus. Phoebe has been reassigned and can no longer protect you. Kore is spoiled now. You have failed to convince her, and you must now suffer the consequences.”  
  
“What will become of Kore?”  
  
“She must be removed as well.”  
  
His mask-- never fell. It never did.  
  
He drains, empties. Who is he? Who is he?  
  
“I am the Dead,” he whispers.  
  
“What? What did you say? Nothing you can say will change the outcome, Cadmus. You have overstayed your welcome here. We do not know why the previous council put up with your actions. If there is anything you wish to do, you have until the dawn. In the morning, we will take you away.”  
  
Take me away now, he does not say.  
  
Hollow-- but the fear remains.  
  
Knowledge of his helplessness.  
  
“I am the Dead.”  
  
They hear him. Flinch.  
  
He-- only delayed the inevitable. Death should be no mystery, contain no fear, whether it comes from your own hand or from another--  
  
\--he convinces himself.  
  
He waits for the dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> The third and final of my Greccian tales, I think. Title from Edwin Arlington Robinson's "Cliff Klingenhagen":
> 
> "CLIFF KLINGENHAGEN had me in to dine  
> With him one day; and after soup and meat,  
> And all the other things there were to eat,  
> Cliff took two glasses and filled one with wine  
> And one with wormwood. Then, without a sign  
> For me to choose at all, he took the draught  
> Of bitterness himself, and lightly quaffed  
> It off, and said the other one was mine.
> 
> And when I asked him what the deuce he meant  
> By doing that, he only looked at me  
> And smiled, and said it was a way of his.  
> And though I know the fellow, I have spent  
> Long time a-wondering when I shall be  
> As happy as Cliff Klingenhagen is."


End file.
